


Catastrophe

by fiveboysxtheworld



Series: Short Stories [1]
Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Photographer Louis, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Waiter Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveboysxtheworld/pseuds/fiveboysxtheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis Tomlinson is a twenty-something photographer at heart who hates being a waiter and is in love with the idea of love, and Harry Styles is a young, catastrophically beautiful boy who captives Louis from the first click of his camera's shutter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catastrophe

PART ONE:

 

TOMLINSON

 

Louis was never surrounded by love.

 

He supposed it had something to do with his parent’s divorce – how it had torn off the false blanket of security wrapped around him, and let the cold world of reality seep into his innocent bones. It had ripped apart him and his family, exposing their secret opinions of one another and laying everyone bare on the table. Only then did he begin to grasp the idea that love was not everything it was promised to be in the movies. He had learned the hard way that hate often overruled any other emotion. Especially during those late nights, where the yelling had startled him awake from an uneasy slumber, provoking the tears he hastily wiped away when his younger sisters entered his room - just as terrified as he felt, and begging for the faded familiarity of years past.

 

Thus, the concept of being entirely infatuated with someone was difficult to wrap his head around. He was oddly fascinated by the prospect of what others coined as “being in love” and an unquenchable thirst for this unique experience consumed the wistful, fleeting thoughts that cluttered his mind much too often. His desire for it was an unwritten fantasy that could never be given life by the masters of words, when his pitiful state was taken into account.

 

Louis was a photographer. A half-decent one too. It could be argued that his exceptional natural talent at capturing a moment through the small lens of a camera was the ultimate thing that made his pictures so enticing to look at, but truthfully, he knew that his undying passion at discovering the love in the world and sharing it with others was what set him apart from any other person. It was a skill not many possessed, and one that people strived to obtain.

 

Yet, unfortunately, at the grand age of twenty-four and a quarter years old, taking a pretty picture did not pay the rent of Louis’ ramshackle flat in London. And so, he had applied for a job at the popular Italian restaurant around the corner, which was a couple of blocks away from the dinky place he called home. They quickly accepted his half-assed attempt at an résumé, desperate for staff, and Louis received an itchy white polo and ill-fitting navy slacks that emphasized his rather large behind, as his new uniform for the position of a waiter.

 

Work wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t that great either. Louis had immediately become good friends with the upbeat, Irish character of Niall, a fellow member of the restaurant’s staff. They had bonded over a mutual fondness of football, and often chatted about their favourite teams and players in between orders. Niall was quite amusing, and could always provoke a chuckle out of him with one of his tales of drunken escapades, even when Louis was swamped with orders.

 

There were also the friendly matches on the weekends with Niall’s group of mates, which had a tendency to transform into regular post-game visits to a quaint pub nearby the pitch. Louis would slowly nurse a pint of beer and have a laugh, unwinding from another week of tedious labour.

 

One could say that Louis was happy if they happened to glance at him from a distance, taking in his bold, cerulean eyes and easy smile, but, if they ventured closer, they would see the dark circles smeared underneath his blue orbs, and the premature lines of stress that spread their way across his forehead. Louis’ shoulders seemed to always have a permanent slouch to them, making his petite frame seem smaller than it already was. He was lonely, and it had begun to take its toll on his body.

 

It was a Friday night, and Louis was working the late shift once again. Niall was there to accompany him in serving the pile of obnoxious teenagers that had recently crowded through the door and demanded copious amounts of food. He sighed as their loud laughter floated through the walls and into the kitchen, fondly remembering the time when he was their age and didn’t seem care about anything.

 

“Hey mate, only twenty more minutes and then we’re done. Let’s serve these guys and get the hell outta here – Zayn texted me this morning and asked if we wanted to grab Liam for a couple drinks over at the pub after work.”

 

Louis looked up, breaking out of the nostalgia of his younger years to gaze at a uniform-clad Niall running a hand through his dyed blond hair.

 

Without waiting to gauge Louis’ response, he continued, “I don’t know about you, but I sure could do with a good pint and some chips. All this food is making me hungry.” He gestured to the orders crowding the small metal meal cart in front of him.

 

Louis grinned knowingly. “You better not of ate something off an order today Niall – we can’t have you getting in trouble with Nick again!”

 

Niall was notorious for snatching a stray bit of chicken or the odd chip from a dish as it was rolled out on the trolley to the designated consumer, and had been caught multiple times in the act. Their boss, Nick, had threatened to fire Niall next time he saw his hand come even centimeters to someone’s meal.

 

“It’s a possibility that I may have snuck a few bread rolls into my pocket,” Niall said mischievously, and pointedly gazed at the slight lump in his apron’s pocket. “I didn’t technically take them off of the plate though, so if Nick asks, tell him he can suck his own dick.”

 

Louis laughed, placing the last plate on his food trolley. “Don’t worry – I’ve got you covered.”

 

The two boys wheeled their metal carts out the double doors and into the low-lit atmosphere of the restaurant for the last time that night.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

It was later that night, or to be perfectly exact – early in the morning – when Louis first saw him.

 

March in London certainly hadn’t spared any warmth for Louis to relish in, and the turbulent winds tucked themselves in the loose folds of his worn-out jacket. His teeth chattered, and his hands ached to be wrapped around a warm cup of Yorkshire tea. He quickened his stride, and willed his short legs to stretch longer as he continued on the seemingly never-ending path from the pub to his flat.

 

He was passing another nightclub he had no care to be in, the pulsing beat of the music shaking the walls, and echoing into the desolate streets Louis roamed, when he first appeared.

 

Bursting out of the back entrance with such a clatter that spooked Louis, a tall, gangly frame collapsed against the wall laughing. Louis scuttled sideways, afraid of the unknown boy. His breath came in short puffs, and Louis steadied himself on a rubbish bin with his shaking hands.

 

The boy turned to look at the deer-eyed Louis, his attention drawn to the sound of his heavy breathing. A clump of curls shot out from his head, as if electrified by the bright atmosphere he carried in his piercing green eyes. He smiled at the obviously nervous Louis, revealing a set of milky white teeth.

 

Louis’ breath hitched. The boy was catastrophically beautiful.

 

He fumbled in his bag for the black object, swearing under his breath when the familiar contours failed to form themselves around his searching hands. He managed to grab it just as the boy opened his mouth to speak, cutting off his words with the blinding light of his flash.

 

Click. Click. The camera whirred, capturing the surprised expression that formed its way on to the beautiful boy’s porcelain face. Click. Louis pressed down on the shutter when the boy began to smile and stretch his hand out to cover the camera. Click. Click. Click.

 

“What’re you doing?” the boy laughed.

 

His voice was like honey. Sweet, smooth and slow. It was deep too, and sent tingling shivers that had nothing to do with the brisk wind outside down Louis’ spine.

 

Louis’ cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He hated the rough, nervous sound of his voice as he stuttered, “I-I’m taking pictures.”

 

The boy’s eyes shone with amusement. “I can see that.” He tapped a long, pale finger on his chin thoughtfully, “Now I wonder if someone ever taught you that taking pictures of people without their permission might be a bit rude? That some people may not want their picture taken by a complete stranger, who would do God knows what with that photo? For all I know, those pictures of me could be sold online for some creepy porn site where hairy Brazilian men get their fill, using my face as a motive.”

 

Flummoxed yet entirely interested by the boy’s ridiculous assumption and evidently bizarre sense of humour, Louis doubled over laughing. Wheezing and with tears in the corners of his eyes, he gasped for air.

 

“I’m sorry – but what? Do I really give off that impression that I would sell your pictures to some website? I didn’t think I radiated the whole ‘I’m-taking-your-picture-so-old-men-can-jack-off-to-it’ vibe. I’m Louis and I’m a freelance photographer. I don’t take porno pictures and I most certainly do not sell them to a Brazilian site,” he gulped in a laugh “or any other site for that matter.”

 

The curly-haired boy grinned, revealing his perfect white teeth that made Louis want to hold the shutter down on his camera, so it would continuously take millions of photographic copies of that smile.

 

“Well, that’s always good to know Louis. I really didn’t want to become a star among elderly Brazilian men anytime soon.” The boy laughed, drowning out the sound of everything else with the melodic sound. “I’m Harry by the way,” he nodded in greeting, eyes cast upon the ground before flickering up curiously “so tell me Louis, I’m quite curious as to what you truly take pictures of.”

 

Heat crawled up Louis’ neck. Suddenly, he wasn’t cold anymore. His stomach twisted as he hastily decided he would be honest with his answer to Harry’s question. There was just something about the way he asked that beckoned an answer.

 

“I take photographs of things I find love in,” Louis paused, sneaking a glance at Harry’s reaction. However, he only remained impassive, starting straight into Louis’ eyes. Louis cleared his throat and began again, “Things I find a spark of life in. It’s one thing for somebody to take a picture of your ordinary park bench. It’s another to take a photo of one covered in graffiti. The life there just oozes out of the colours and gives us a glimpse of what whoever painted it is like. There may not be love in the craft itself for that person, but there is certainly love in the rebellion aspect. Breaking the rules, doing things you’re not supposed to – that’s the adrenaline rush, the love of it all. That’s what makes a spark.”

 

Harry only blinked as he took this information in. Louis didn’t know him near well enough to tell what he was thinking underneath his masked features. He desperately wanted to though. With each second that passed, a wave of anxiety showered Louis with fresh nerves. He didn’t know why, but Harry’s opinion of him was suddenly very important.

 

Harry finally looked up, licking his lips. A cluster of curls draped on his forehead above his sea green eyes, which squinted as if Louis were a light obstructing his vision. Everything about his expression screamed sex-appeal.

 

“D-did you see a spark in me?” he coughs. “Of love?”

 

Louis wanted to melt, right there in front of the devastatingly attractive boy. Lust clouded his vision and made his head spin with stars. He was beautiful. And so dangerously out of his league. It was completely clichéd.

 

But, as tempting as it was to let his knees buckle and fall to the ground like a fainthearted teenage girl, he was not making a complete ass of himself. He had one shot to get this right. Regaining his composure by inhaling, he smirked.

 

“I’m not sure…could you help me with that?” he suggested mischievously.

 

Harry read his intentions clearly. He stepped up into Louis’ personal space, so close to the point where their noses brushed against each other’s.

 

“I think I will,” Harry breathed against his mouth, heat pouring from his thick, parted lips.

 

There were no more words to be exchanged after that, as their mouths collided in a rough, alcohol-driven fervor.

 

It was like Harry’s lips were fire, and Louis’ were ice.

 

Harry kissed Louis as though he was burning and thirsted for the refreshment of frigid temperatures, and Louis responded accordingly, by melting from his stiff, icy state, to pooling hot liquid underneath his touch. Their hands roamed each other, trying to find all the nooks and crannies; squeezing a bit of lower back, tracing chest muscles, cupping cheeks. Moans were squeezed from between their mouths and reverberated in their bodies. They pressed closer together, lust fogging their thoughts, except for the constant mantra of ‘moremoremore’.

 

Harry planted several love bites on Louis’ neck as Louis tugged and massaged the curls on his head. He wrapped his fingers around the clump of ringlets he held in his hand, and was rewarded with the feeling of the moan Harry released against his throat in response down to his toes.

 

Then Louis’ lips were back up against Harry’s. His teeth were just about to nip Harry’s lower lip when Harry pulled away abruptly.

 

Breathless, he demanded, “Give me your camera.”

 

In his lust-crazed state, Louis – without a second thought - placed his prized antique Canon into the awaiting hands of someone who was still practically a stranger. Harry flicked on the camera and adjusted the dial setting. Louis really should have come to the conclusion sooner, but he still wasn’t prepared for the flash as Harry snapped a picture of him, jerking back in surprise.

 

Harry laughed, revealing his perfect teeth once again. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you look absolutely ravished and stunning and I really needed to get a picture.” He took in Louis’ perplexed expression as a man who was the photographer and never the subject.

 

Without another moment’s hesitation, Harry’s lips descended onto Louis’s neck once more.


End file.
